Under New Management
by Parajuvenilis-Stephanie
Summary: Dersite OC. Jack Noir is now King and Derse is plunged into sanguine tyranny. The Confectionary Cadress is a young working-class Dersite who owns a small sweet shop at the end of the Aristocratic street, the Odyssey Scarf. But when the Cadress overhears Jack's vow to slaughter all the Aristocrats on Odyssey Scarf, who's to say that she'll be safe from his bloodshed? T for language.
1. Chapter 1: Enter Dignitary

The Confectionary Cadress (CC)

This young lady is a self-employed sweets and cake shop owner that lives in a small tower house on the aristocratic street of Odyssey Scarf; a grand street occupied by Old Kingdom aristocrats. It's now the age of the New Kingdom; Jack Noir has seized the throne and declared this age because of his newfound reign.

The Old Kingdom, of course, was the righteous reign of the beautiful Black Queen. But what of her? You really shouldn't ask in the presence of King Jack.

Morning was presented by the outrageously scratchy sound of the Morning Warden's horn. To anyone else, this would have been the most irritating occurrence. But when your planet orbits far from its only natural light source, Skaia, the side of Derse that is waking has to be told when to rise, because there isn't really much of a different between day and night.

MW blew a strong puff of air into his horn, and then after hearing a Bishop Dersite curse ignorantly at him from out his tower, decided to give up with the horn; anything dead could be awoken by its screeching call by now.

Even after he had replaced it in his dark Harlequin satchel, he was suddenly bonked on the head by an incoming Spire pommel that another Aristocrat had launched out a window.

So much for courtesy of the rich. The horn is supposed to do Dersites a favour and get ready for work!

But then again, it was very unlikely that any of these snooty Aristocrats worked. He was probably wasting his time and should be blaring the goddamned horn down a more regular street.

Still wincing from the metal clonk to the head, he tenderly touched his bare carapaced cranium, expecting to feel a crack. Luckily, the impact wasn't so damaging, as he could only feel the beginning of a tissue bruise on the surface of his black exoskeleton.

Still, touching it made him realise how much the force shook his head, making him feel lightheaded.

He reckoned it was time to head back home and attend to the bruising before another Aristocrat decided to fling a similarly damaging constructive decoration at his weeping head.

So, stabilising his feet, he made his way towards the other end of the street, hoping to get out of Odyssey Scarf – it was an unnerving sector of the city, with the dark, flamboyant, gargantuan buildings towering over, harbouring Dersites that live off the labour of the poor and treat most Dersites as scum. MW knew full well his King is very wary of these apparent superiorities in the community, and hopefully soon, he'll do something about their intolerable attitudes.

Everyone knows the punishment for getting on the bad side of the frightening King Jack; they should get what's coming to them.

Unsurprisingly, the headache worsened and MV wrestled with his feet for a second in order to stop him from falling head first to the dark purple street. And in attempt to maintain his balance, he swung his head back and stood straight, locking his legs and letting the blood leave his head for a second so it wouldn't stop blurring his vision with red.

Much better. His headache prospered momentarily, until MW's senses came into play; he could smell something. Something delicious, and rich.

Snapping his beady white eyes open, he stared into the middle distance in order to decipher the scent.

Was it... chocolate? Oh, chocolate. If anything brightened a mood for MW, it was the taste of that sickly-sweet solid. Something to soothe out his head, in fact... he glanced around almost eagerly – albeit his weariness – but his eyesight went blurred, and his head went cold.

"Hey!"

The voice was accompanied by a warm grip on his upper arms, startling him enough to shake the near-unconsciousness out of his system. The warmth then left his right arm and returned upon the side of his face; someone's hand.

"Hey, Warden, sir. Are you okay?"

MW blinked several times, trying to wash out the fuzziness in his vision, but to no avail. His carapace ached from the previous prong to the head, the memory of touching that tender bruise making his head woozy again.

"Come on, I don't think you should be standing," the voice said, as if it was repeating it for the third time.

MW made out a pathetic 'hn' in response, which seemed to be enough to satisfy his saviour as he found himself being lead gently in a direction unbeknownst to him.

The luxurious smell of chocolate occurred to him again, stronger, but the more he walked with the stranger, the less things processing in his mind.

The next thing he knew, he was being sat down on what felt like the comfiest thing in the world – and with that, his conscience blacked out completely.

A small lady Dersite, donned in her daily outfit of mustard yellows and reds, stood by the now unconscious Warden, eyeing him disapprovingly.

She helps the old Morning Howler from a dodgy moment in the street and he does the gentlemanly thing of crashing out on her sofa. Charming!

But he'll probably feel worse when he comes round. She feels obliged to attend to that problem.

Tapping her chin in thought, she strode out the room, entering what looked like a small corridor.

On the right side, it appeared to in fact be the inside of a small stall.

To the left, was a creative arrangement of cakes, buns, sweets and chocolates which must have taken a lot of thought to arrange. Still tapping her chin thoughtfully, she scanned her supplies.

By the time she was back, a rather confused old Dersite was staring up at her, rubbing his head softly. The lady placed a black tray down, offering the weary Warden a glass of water while he continued to look at her blankly.

A beaming expression then arose to his face.

"Oh, of course! The Confectionary Cadress that runs the sweet shop!" He exclaimed, gesturing to her with both hands, as if asking for a hug. He did was looked like an attempt to stand, but CC was quick to push him back down.

"Sit, MW. You were in a very weird state before; I think you should stay put." Her bluntness was removed from her voice when she saw him shake his head, smiling.

"I'm fine. Just a bang on the head that did it." He sipped the water from the glass he never remembered receiving from her, enjoying how it seemed to refresh his fuzzy head.

He decided to chuckle whole-heartedly at the simple oddity of his day so far, despite his usual dreary demeanour. It wasn't normal for Dersites to be so openly cheery and pleasant, as it was seen as a light-hogging Prospitan sort of thing. MW guessed the wooziness was still the better of him, although CC, who was stood before him, was smiling at his good-natured mood.

She then picked up a small cupcake from the tray and leant over to place it in his hands. He looked at it, before looking back at her.

"Fainting does a lot to kill your blood sugar. Eat it, you'll recover better."

MV sighed, his expression softer.

"I'm sorry miss, I don't carry any boonbucks on me when I'm doing my morn-"

"It's free." She stated, polite yet firm. He knew he wouldn't have a further say in the matter; she wasn't going to accept his money. Who'd have thought there'd be such a sweet character on Derse? Being surrounded by so many delectable sweets and chocolates must keep her at an all-time high, he reckoned. Oh chocolate... he only just realised how rich the smell was in here!

After watching her leave the room, he glanced down and the little cupcake in his palm. He could feel the warmth of a freshly baked good resonating through the pretty Harlequin patterned paper, which reminded him of the warm palms that brought him to safety. Wasting no more time examining the cake, he set his glass down and took a bite. A sensation of flavour washed over him, and the cupcake was gone before he realised he had eaten it. Heh, what cupcake?

He realised after his snack that the little Confectionary Cadress had escorted him back to her home; there was no other reason for the rich smells that enveloped the room. He was also quite aware that the sweet shop was located as the end of Odyssey Scarf, as on his other Warden duties he'd meet several other Dersites asking for directions to the little store.

Does she live and work here all alone?

Despite his knowledge of the Dersefolk, the Confectionary Cadress seemed to be a grey area in his head. She lives on one of the highest streets in the whole of Derse, surely there must be more to her than just being the owner of a little sweet shop? A lucky relative of an aristocratic family, maybe? He realised now wasn't the time to ask. He had much more important things to do today other than lounge around on some broad's sofa!

Pushing himself to his feet, MW set the glass and the cupcake wrapper on the tray and brought it with him into the room he saw CC leave into.

He discovered it was the stall where she sold her baked goods, and to his embarrassment the young lady Dersite was busy attending to a frightfully stern looking customer.

Wait. The King's right hand man?

Time took a short pause as the Draconian Dignitary himself took a vaguely surprised yet professional glance at the old warden entering the room. CC was quite obviously lost for words, and double-took between the two males with somewhat reproach.

"Oh..." she started awkwardly, "Just place it on the side."

MV hesitantly obeyed, receiving very clear signals that she really didn't want the Dignitary to know he was in her home. Upon that realisation, the Morning Warden tipped his hat to the female and the Dignitary and took a second to look round and find a door to the outside.

"See you later." He said, and with that he was out.

Never had good vibes about the Dignitary. Hell, King Jack was good at his job but he never failed to send an eerie chill shooting down the back of the Dersite's exoskeleton. His haunting grin was as much his trademark as his prototypings' were. Curved sharp teeth would glint behind an even sharper grin, angular and dangerous. It was ugly in most respects, an expression that could never be a polite gesture coming from Jack's visage. The only time one would ever see the true ghastly sneer would be when Jack is endorsed in his aggressive sanguinity; something greatly symbolised by the blood-splattered sword sheathed in his chest. He loved it - the feel of ripping a being apart, the clear-cut sounds of blade slicing through bone, carapace, flesh, organ, the terminal breath and choke of his victim... Things like this made MW seriously wonder why he even respected the man. A great king, but a greater demon.

And the Dignitary – in which MV still didn't have the guts to glance back at for a second – was a more ominous power. The guy was a closed off castle; no one knew much of him other than he was the King's second in command. Expressionless, save for those observing eyes that shifted, watching everything. He looked through you, even with your back turned.

The thought of the Draconian Dignitary again made MV wonder... Why was he at the Confectionary Cadress's sweet shop? At this time of morning? He definitely wasn't there for the treats. But what could she have possibly done to attract the attention of the monarchy?

As much as fear and concern welled up in him for the lady, he knew not to even be around, let alone intervene. Characters like the Dignitary – especially the Dignitary – don't take too kindly to interference. He'd seen deaths before his very eyes, where innocent Dersites were brought down because they were siding with a man who hadn't paid his taxes to the powers. Even Dersites who were just on the sidelines - spectators – were stabbed by that fearsome Diamond spear or Jack's bloody blade out of sheer presence in the situation.

MV's thought trail once again shot a wave of fear into him.

Is she going to be alright? What did she do?

Even walking well into the next street, MV's nerves were still twisting him about turning round. That girl had just helped him out, and he was walking away? Of course, it was foolish to go back. Did he not just go over why it would be a terrible idea to interfere?

Plus, he was one of the many Dersites remaining of the Old Kingdom. Everyone knows how King Jack and his disciples feel about those!

He'll go back later. Later in the day, to the sweet shop and see if she's okay. Heck, if she's _alive_. If she's not drawn out over the stall counter, blood leaking from her carapace in blackening chunks... His head was feeling weird again...


	2. Chapter 2: Enter Fear

The Confectionary Cadress watched with surprise as for once, her acclaimed half-brother didn't go to sit down on the sofa as he always did and pull out a newspaper. Instead, he walked right in through her front door and came straight up to her. She was more than a little worried by this.

She'd ask the question – the same question about what he wanted to eat every time he'd visit – but his stone cold complexion and frightful demeanour left her paralysed, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Jack's got some important business on this street." The Dignitary said, either not seeing or ignoring her frozen stature.

He solemnly leant against the stall worktop and reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette.

She watched him, still blank for a moment until her head kicked back into gear.

What's going on? Why is he telling her this?

What irritated her about his words was that he spoke about Jack like she still thought of him the same as she first knew him; the days before the Reckoning, when the Black Queen was still in power. Her house was the rendezvous of DD and his three gang friends; Hegemonic Brute, Courtyard Droll and their gang leader, Jack Noir himself.

To her, Jack was a Dersite that had a temper issue around his comrades and was a little demanding when he wanted her to rack up a bowl of liquorice Scotty Dogs.

Occasionally she would find holes in her sofa where the angry man had gashed the material with his pocket knife.

He was as tolerable as she could put up with, at least.

DD's tone irritated her because that wasn't him anymore.

He was a power hungry, bloodthirsty king; an evil and immoral man that really had no respect or care for the value of innocent Dersites' lives. Even when she was out buying more ingredients or selling in the city centre, she'd look over to the palace entrance and see King Jack himself, thriving off the looks of fear that he received from passersby.

CC feared him too. As much as the Cadress had to respect her King, she was sickened by him.

She suddenly remembered the Dignitary had the patience of a rolling pin.

"Err... Don't you want to sit down?" She asked, her voice cracking for some reason.

The idea that Jack was coming to Odyssey Scarf (or more frighteningly, he was coming within 200m distance of her) was beginning to unnerve her.

"I'm not staying long."

"Why are you here?"

He casually blew out smoke over his left shoulder, and the Cadress watched with annoyance as it drifted near the cakes against the wall. Oh, if she wasn't so nervous and he wasn't so dangerous, _and_ if he wasn't the King's disciple, she would've so given him an earful for that!

"Just to give you a heads up. Jack might be coming in here."

CC's blood ran cold.

She must've demonstrated a shitload of other physical reactions as well because the Dignitary raised his eyebrows at her. He usually ignores her expressions. His response to her made her blush out of embarrassment.

Why did he have to make things so awkward?

"W-why... is he-"

"Since the planet is finally stabilised and the monarchy is under control, Jack's now planning on getting rid of any opposition that might be an issue later on," he informed, his cigarette waving loosely between his claws as he gestured slightly, "his main target at the moment are the Old Kingdom aristocrats that all live on this street."

"But I'm not an aristocrat-"

"No, but you know Jack,"

_No I don't_, she thought bitterly. He gave a look that made her wonder if he could read her thoughts.

"He gonna be popping into every last one of these fucking houses and ripping them to shreds; chances are when he gets to this end of the street this place is not going to look any different to the aristocrat mansions."

"Oh, so you've come to warn me that I'm inevitably going to be slaughtered today." She tried to say sternly, but most of her words came out in such a squeak that she thought she might die under mortification.

His eye just twitched and he took another drag.

The Cadress jumped up to sit on the stall counter he was leant upon, hoping that sitting down would ease her nerves a little. She stared at her small carapaced feet.

"I wouldn't say inevitably."

"Why not." She snapped. This time her voice was much stronger; strengthened by growing fear.

The Dignitary seemed to dismiss her tone when she otherwise expected him to hit her. He was in thought.

"We spent a few years meeting up here. He might remember this place. He might even remember you."

"Why would that change anything." She said dejectedly, the strength gone from her voice again. Her half-brother shifted so he was closer to her sitting form, staring at the wall opposite while smoking his cigarette absent-mindedly.

She was going to take him moving closer to her as a comforting gesture, but of course the Dignitary wouldn't do that. He seemed like the sort of guy that would probably give someone a cigarette and offer to light it for them if they needed comforting.

"As much as he'll be thriving in bloodshed, Jack does have a bigger sense of gratitude than you're giving him credit for. If he does recognise you, he might be merciful for your years of hospitality."

"That's strange," she started, the strength returning, "I didn't think anyone was grateful for all the times I-"

"Watch your mouth, Cadress."

The Cadress found herself squirming under a darkened gaze. Even when she was sat on the counter, his tall figure loomed over her like an omen.

That was it. He was ignoring her attitude before but now she'd met the line. Time to shut up and yield.

"He'll be setting out to destroy the aristocrats very soon, before any of them leave their homes." He said, putting out his cigarette on the worktop.

It was an indication he was leaving, which she found she wasn't too happy with. He stood up straight from where he was leaning on the counter and straightened out his well-tailored uniform.

She quickly slid off the counter and faced him.

"C-couldn't you..." CC's pleading voice was lost in the glare he shot at her. He wasn't expecting her to say anything at all. She kept her mouth tight.

"Couldn't I _what_."

She was silent, pondering whether it was safe to ask. She decided it probably wouldn't matter if he did something to her; like hell was Jack going to be 'merciful' later on. _She was a dead woman_.

"Couldn't you... stay until he gets here? So he doesn't..."

Oh, who the fuck was she kidding. The Dignitary's expression told her he wasn't going to contemplate that crap for a second.

"I'm busy," He said, with a low grunt that was as close to a laugh she'd ever heard him make, "I have a list of Old Kingdom soldiers to question." There was still an amused glint in his eye.

The more she noticed it the more she was embarrassed for even acting so pathetic before him, and consequently lowered her head. The Dignitary smoothed out his dark grey tie and turned to leave. She watched him walk away.

"Goodbye." CC called, feeling that if she'd said that a second later she would've choked on her voice.

Was she going to die today? It was a thought already constricting her stomach.

The Cadress suddenly felt a pang in her heart as it seemed to hurt her when she realised, _he doesn't care. He won't miss me. _For all the times he had just entered her house, expecting her service and respect while he sat and read the paper and choked her house with his cigarettes... she guessed she saw him as a brother.

A guardian that did sweet fuck all, but a guardian nonetheless.

She was going to die. The Confectionary Cadress stared helplessly at the tall dark figure now gliding down the street and didn't want anything else in the whole incisphere right now other than to be _hugged_ by him.

The house was suddenly a dark, horrid place, where a smirking King Jack Noir and his murderous weapon stood eagerly in every room. Hardly 23 years of age, and going to die.

With watery eyes shut tight, she gathered up the last bit of strength that hadn't deserted her and blindly dashed out the shop, through the lounge and up the spiral stairs, screaming.


	3. Chapter 3: Enter King Jack

You were now a viciously beaming Dersite with an eager blade clutched in your bloody palm, a cold glow coming from the index finger where a sacred ring was worn.

The small jewellery glinted with a golden air of peace and prosperity, the pearls creating the gentle light that streaked magnificent white across the shiny carapaced hand of the wearer.

King Jack Noir of the New Kingdom of Derse was perched like a vulture atop a tower, overlooking the grand stretch of street – the Odyssey Scarf – with dark, lustful eye. Today, he had vowed to destroy the Old Kingdom aristocracy before they tried anything against his absolute rule over the land of Derse.

He had vowed to rip them apart slowly - a limb at a time, maybe - and watch each expression until his murderous grin was burned into the back of their eye sockets. Then, bring the heads to be displayed as a warning against rebellion and mutiny; King Jack won't stand for it.

This was going to be the biggest fun he'd had in a long time; he could already feel it in the harrowed beat of his black heart. Snooty Dersites that once thought they were higher than the Archagent, squirming and pleading and thick with fear as he'd drive his beautiful blade through their exoskeletons.

It was a feeling he would never grow tired of, a feeling that would stir the most scornful laughter in his throat until his lips and chest were aching with wicked glee.

Staring down at the softly glowing ring on his hand, he closed his eyes.

His dog-like head was washed over with a smooth transition of white and green sparks, reshaping into a star-like shape until the sparks were gone, and the black complexion of pre-Bec Jack was there.

The harlequin hat that belonged to the doll prototyping on the ring was now upon his head, and his naturally furious and angular expression was no longer warped by the head of a dog.

As much as the dog-head scared the living shit out of his people, it wasn't the face of a mutt he wanted his victims to remember.

Besides, Jack Noir found he had a couple of... issues concerning the nature of the animal that became part of him.

As much as he tried to suppress it, he seemed to find himself with the underlying eagerness to wag his behind, roll on his back, lick certain body parts, and the most annoying of all... an urge to sniff others' backsides.

**_Fuck_**, the amount of times he's had to hold himself back from pouncing on his three gang members and explore the scents of their ass was WAY too many for him to think about without cringing hideously.

On more than one occasion, he's been sure the Dignitary has spotted him glancing at his butt, which is probably never a good sign from one's long term man-to-man friendship.

What annoyed him even more about the dog prototyping however was that it was by far the best one. The powers of the green sun gave Jack everything. He could reach anywhere and everywhere, positively do anything with the power bestowed on him by the ring. So he couldn't suppress it completely like he could the other prototypings.

If he wanted all the crazy power shit that came with the dog, he had to let that side still course through his veins in order to still have access to it.

Taking off the dog-head helps with the urges though; this is why he removed it.

Didn't want to start worrying about the current hygiene of his genitals while stabbing some guy in the chest!

But of course, back to the mission.

Jack scanned back over Odyssey Scarf, darting his attention towards each front door to each home.

A pretty street; he wondered what it would look like in red, and snickered darkly.

Better get on with this before any of them leave.

Scanning over the street, the target was made and Jack shot like a bullet into the large top window of the first stately home, spreading his wings in order to smash as much glass as possible.

The sound was crisp, and wonderful.

He landed effortlessly, on one knee, blade in hand, and rose with a frightfully majestic air. Shards of glass glistened on his shoulders and feathery wings, provoking a still image of beauty despite the hideous sneer that was sculpted on his features.

Before him, carapace and flesh and bone and soul withered in his acrylic shadow. A face of fright and shock, in which the King closed the gap, and united blade with innocence.

What was once the wall, and the horizon of covers by her face, was now a murky blur; the colour of sick.

The body lay still, hands clenched in front of her small, parted mouth.

Her breathing was shallow, where the poor lady Dersite had once been hyperventilating. Her chest burned, with her twisted nerves and fast gasps of air.

But the worse thing in the world was the endless hole in her chest. She could feel it there, brimmed with red and spilling out over her chest, staining...

King Jack would be here soon. That's if he had not already appeared in her house below. And she would face that exact harrowing stab to the chest, the reality of the undignified punishment that she could only imagine the pain of...

For a while now, CC had been listening out for screams. She couldn't help it; as much as she wanted to push away the horror, the deadly silence provoked nothing else.

But she couldn't hear anything.

In fact, it seemed so quiet that she wondered if Jack was coming at all.

The thick, purple walls of the aristocratic mansions may be muffling any high-pitched sounds, which was almost worse because no one would hear her scream. If she was going to die, then she'd want the whole city to know about it; how unfairly a fate was brought upon her... she was the candy-making Cadress that everyone loved! CC was not the one to go out like a light and have people wonder where she disappeared off to.

No, she wanted the people to know exactly what their amoral King had done to the innocent cake lady.

But of course, she'd prefer neither.

In an ideal world, Jack wouldn't set foot in her direction whatsoever and she'd be free to live without the daunting possibility that he'd arrive to slaughter her.

If only there was something she could do... CC's mind failed to distinguish any real plans from the impossible fantasises that rolled around in her head. Flying away, becoming invisible, tearing that abused ring from his finger and stomping on it in hope that it'd break... She had no way out of this, and the more the truth ran through her head, the more she wanted to counter it.

But the more inevitable it seemed.

Feeling desperately weak, the Cadress made her best efforts to sit up on the bed, feeling as if she moved too fast, Jack would somehow see her movement through the walls of her bedroom tower and immediately appear to complete his thrilling onslaught.

It was terrifying. CC wanted so much to stay alive.

Begging even seemed like an option she'd try, despite the inevitable outcome. In fact, it might speed it up as cowardly things either excite or irritate the demon. She even hoped there was a slight chance, however small, that the Dignitary was right; Jack would recognise her and have mercy.

Maybe, she could make him something?

She wondered if he still liked liquorice scotty do- OH WHAT WAS SHE THINKING.

Her life was going to end, and she would just have to deal with it.

But still...

Ignoring the uncomfortable tingly feeling in her legs, the Cadress slowly put her feet to the cool, violet floor and pushed herself up – as slowly as possible, of course. Any faster and she felt she could kill herself in fear.

Don't want to die, don't want to die...

Would he recognise her?

The last time they met, it was 5 years ago. Maybe more.

She remembered she was reaching 18 years of age, remembering how most Dersites would only obtain their first home from their parents. She'd been living alone in the spire, baking and catering, since she was 15. Jack Noir wasn't king; just a sour young male that only spoke to her when he was demanding his food.

Even before all this, he never failed to send chills down her spine. Come to think of it, what made the Dignitary think that Jack had the slightest amount of respect for her? She was just a pathetic sweet servant, with a good house to meet in to avoid being persecuted for their mutinous plans.

If she wasn't providing the snacks, he'd have probably already stuck that dagger he possessed in her; the one he'd use to stab into the arm of the sofa whenever he was aggravated.

But in terms of appearance, she most likely hasn't changed at all. Same face, same height.

The only difference might be the clothing she was wearing; CC didn't like sticking to one outfit for years. Mainly because it daunted her that the other Dersites on her street would have something wonderfully rich and different every day – she felt embarrassed for wearing only one garment in comparison.

Slowly making her way over to her wardrobe – unconsciously ducking out of the way of the window view, to avoid a certain king seeing her – CC opened it, her heart missing a beat when the doors creaked a little louder than she could cope with.

If Jack could ever recognise her, then she would at least make the effort, no matter how little the difference.

Would he have ever remembered what she was wearing?

Highly unlikely. But she was hard-set on finding a lucky streak in her fate.

A total of five dresses hung in her wardrobe. CC loved being pretty, but buying good ingredients and giving good service to her customers was always the main priority.

But she kept every last one of her dresses; including a much smaller red one from the pre-teenage years... But which one was the dress she wore when she was 18?

Caught up in the unpredictable time she had left, CC studied each one for half a second in attempt to bring back memories of any sort.

**_A shadowy object in the back of the wardrobe caught her eye for a second; it was a battered old harlequin-patterned hat._**

**_The reason for keeping it was a long lost memory she refused to remember_****.**

She pulled out one that was dark yellow and pink, with a harlequin red middle; the last dress she wore before the current yellow and red frock she was donned in.

Will this have been it? She wanted to be certain. But time was already spinning a web.

Hopefully, she'd be changed before he arrived.

Wait, arrived? What was he, a welcome visitor?

Jack wasn't even welcome before he was a murderous king. If she wasn't so scared, the Cadress could have spat out that statement as if it was a hideously over-baked pastry.

Shakily slipping off her previous dress and letting it drop to the floor – much like her hopes, she thought – the Cadress eyed the old dress once more before pulling it off the hanger and over her head.

Oh.

Oh dear.

With trembling hands, the Cadress embarrassingly had to put some effort into tugging the dress into place; as much as the middle was suppose to hug one's middle, it more or less clenched her exo-skeleton like a vice and pushed against the soft innards beneath.

It shamefully occurred to her that she must've gained some weight since she was a teenager. However the fabric gave slightly under the new stress and CC felt a little better.

She decided to check her mirror.

Seeing herself in the old dress, quite pleasingly, did bring back faint memories from her teenage years.

Although the constriction of the dress could only add age to her appearance; the figure of a young female was much greatly accented by the snug fit. Upon realisation of that, she suddenly didn't like it. A surge of embarrassment overcame her again as she saw the sultry nature that it provoked – THIS WAS WAY TOO SMALL. Let's just seduce your killer, shall we?

CC made an all-too eager grab at the shoulder to yank it off when SHRIEK.

Bloodcurdling.

Piercing.

It came from across the street.

Making a stumbling dash across the room, CC seemed to overlook her fear of the outside world at this point to discover the source of the noise.

The Odyssey Scarf lay before her, stretching far to the right and lined with silent mansions and spiked towers.

There was no one in the street; a glance up – there was no certain someone in the air. In fact, the whole of Derse had a feeling of desertion, as if she was the only one on the solitary purple world.

The stillness provoked a melancholy feel on the magnificent indigo and regal purple monuments, as if the absence of Dersites had cost it all it's worth. The Cadress listened again, intently.

Was it just her imagination?

Her chest tight, CC backed away from the arched window as if she had seen a horror.

She continued to do so until the opposite wall came up behind her delicate, vulnerable form.

The contact forced her to flinch, expelling a tear.

The garment was tighter again, and she noticed the accelerated rise and fall of her chest. Suspense. Hate. Fear. Worry. Fear.

She tried to distinguish silence above the thrums of her throbbing heart.

The scream was female. The sound was vivid in her head, but the direction and reality wasn't.

Because of that, it unnerved her more as to whether or not it was the terminal breath of a victim.

Or her mind playing a nasty trick.

Visibly trembling from the long-standing anticipation, CC edged across the wall. She couldn't find the dare to return to the window, so the only form of escapism from her claustrophobia that compelled her mind forward was the door.

She had to get out. Out of the room of colours of sick. The room where she had unleashed her fear in bouts of screams and wails. The air was thin and the walls were dark.

And the walls were close. Close. Closer.

Door. Get Out!

Her head swam in the loud, crashing sea of purple as she fumbled for the door handle.

She rattled it in a desperate attempt to escape the walls that closed in on her. A shaken whimper escaped her tightening throat.

Out! Out!

The inner workings of the door gave in and with wide eyes she blindly stumbled out – OUT! **OUT! OUT!** - to the top of the staircase.

She left the door open, and let the cool stone air of the staircase wash over her and through the door behind.

A familiar fat leech, preying on her mind, unhooked it's jaw and slithered away into nothing.

Oh how she hated that leech.

She realised how silent it was again, as the crashing purple sea had long died away since she left her bedroom.

CC felt she was becoming all too accustomed to foetus of terror that grew inside her stomach.

She swallowed when she noticed how shaken her hands were before her, as if she was trying to feel her way through the air. Slowly, she descended down the stairs with her hands grazing the walls, looking for support.

In a way, it made her angry that she was left to hang like this, while the promise of death awaited outside her home. Agony weaved through her mind - foreboding the true pain that would reap her short life from her.

"Breathe, breathe..." she whispered to herself, closing her eyes in the hope that the loss of vision would sweep away the horrors that played over in her mind. CC placed a hand on her constricted chest and inhaled.

How much longer would she have to wait? What could she do to save herself?

Could she hide? Or would his canine senses pick her up like a meaty joint in a pile of vegetables?

Oh, why couldn't she just disappear!

She recognised the last curved corner of the spiral staircase – her descent was almost over. Her knees were weak, and her clammy claws felt as if she'd just plunged them into a cold jelly dessert.

She gasped.


	4. Chapter 4: The Harlequin Hat

b5 YEARS AGO/b

The distant spark of Skaia was distinctly visible from the stall front. As the Cadress waited at her post for any final customers, the white and blue spot in the inky depths of space peered at her between the smallest gaps between monuments.

There wasn't much service today, and CC was hoping that someone else would appear so she could sell of the last of todays special – Black Liquorice swirls with a soft cream and pink liquorice bases – and hopefully go to bed.

In an attempt to entertain herself, the Cadress looked down at her dress and adjusted the snug red middle so the lip of the torso was symmetrical with her body.

She took great pride in her image; CC always thought herself to be a very pretty girl, what-with her smooth round face, neatly set in eye sockets, acute pout and big pearly white eyes. Not forgetting the feathery white lashes, too; as far as CC was concerned they seemed to be able to charm and bewitch anyone that came to buy some cakes.

Of course, she wasn't a flirt – the Cadress could never do that; she just did not have the confidence or the attitude to deliberately draw in someone to share a relationship with her. How other ladies could freely hit on a man without feeling embarrassed or un-ladylike, she would never know. Besides, CC had never really met someone who she would consider to be partner.

Living on Derse, it was hard to meet a male she'd consider to be ideal; tall, intelligent, strong, be her age, good-looking – have a wonderful smile - good-natured, would respect her, protect her, and never inflict harm on her or threaten her. If the last two points seemed pretty acute, it's because the Cadress and heard about how some soldiers had treated women on their return from the battlefield.

In comparison to the Skaia-hogging Prospitians, Dersites tended to be much more moody and... Sinister, if that wasn't too much of an over-exaggeration. It was difficult to go around Derse and not meet a male that didn't send some sort of cold chill down one's exo-skeleton. It was really just the way of the Derse society, which was probably the main reason why CC didn't try batting her eyelids or posing provocatively when a young male came to buy something.

Chances are they were a war-hardened creep – no matter how beautifully straight their teeth were, or how attractive their smile was. As soon as the Cadress started buying newspapers, she learned the way of the average Dersite male and never considered taking a chance again, in fear that something would happen to her.

By now, the planet had rotated so the faint blink of Skaia had disappeared behind the distant looming tower of a building several streets away. There was no longer anything in the sky to entertain her.

Feeling fed up, the Cadress thought heavily about closing up shop half an hour early as no one was on Odyssey Scarf.

To check no one was coming in from the next street, the Cadress stuck her head out the window of the stall and swerved it so she could see down the next street by her home. Some people were returning from work.

Another, dressed in a formal harlequin garb that the Black Queen insisted her servants wore, appeared to be heading her way but instead turned off to the left.

CC sighed in disappointment.

Time to call it a d-OH GOOD GOG NO.

Oh, why _now_?

CC was now glaring in the other direction, at the figure lurching down the street where the aristocratic houses stood.

The shine of his exaggerated egg-shaped head was enough for CC to pick out exactly who it was from the distance between them. The figure was dressed in a similar harlequin rag to the other Dersite, slightly torn in places.

A ridiculous hat was deliberately scraped across the floor as he walked, the owner furthering the abuse by almost slashing it against the purple pavement as his arm swung. The figure was short for a Dersite male; barely above her normal height.

The distinct shape of the black Spades was on the left of his torso, and seemed to be the only part of his robe that he hadn't damaged in some way.

To her severe discontent, the figure was definitely heading in the direction of her house.

The Cadress let out a groan, and turned around to the stall cupboards behind her and pulled out a bowl of ready-made liquorice Scotty dogs, as if it was compulsory when she saw the Dersite approaching. Unfortunately, it was.

However, he didn't always come through the front entrance.

Other moments consisted of breaking through windows, through the back of her home, through her bedroom tower, and always... ALWAYS with company.

Because this Dersite just so happened to be Jack Noir; the leader of a secret four-manned gang that all had a position in the Black Queen's palace.

Aside from Jack, there was CD, the Courtyard Droll, who would regularly make their entrance by using an explosive to bust down the wall.

There was also the forever towering and muscular Hegemonic Brute, who could do just as much damage to her wall as one of the Droll's C4 wall-fuckers.

The last member, the Draconian Dignitary, was the second-in-command and just so happened to be the male that started the whole tie between the gang and her house. Why did her house have to be rendezvous point of their meetings? Even so, why should she harbour 4 men who should be convicted of making plans against her Highness?

CC would tell, but she's too afraid to. Even if it got rid of them, there was always this tightening fear within her that told her she would be killed before they were charged.

And besides, she'd feel guilty for going against DD, her apparent 'half-brother'. Even if she hated it when he and the gang came in to claim her living room and expect her to rustle up their favourite snacks for them.

The Archagent was now within clear sight, in which she noticed something odd; where Jack would usually have a furious march as a walk (it was just the nature of Jack Noir to show his hatred complex in everything he did), Jack seemed to be more or less groggily stumbling his way over.

Another thing she noticed was that where Jack would usually bear an ugly snarling lip or a plastered scowl, it was more of a heavy-lidded frown, the corner of his lip curled only curled slightly. It occurred to her that in the claw that didn't bear the heavily-decorated hat, there was a bottle of booze.

Oh god. The guy was drunk.

The short, narrow-minded, skinny, ugly Dersite – with a hideous drunken scowl – a violent, irrespective, selfish, stab-happy and dangerous young male was lumbering towards the vulnerable cake-maker's house. Jack always had a dagger on his person; one which he used on her sofa, as previously mentioned.

He was constantly angry and although she'd never seen him try, he would probably kill somebody without a second thought if he was ordered too. It was probably part of his job to execute people, but it's not like she knew what his job was.

However, the only thing that stopped her worrying about anything like that was that she knew Jack enough to believe he wouldn't kill anyone for the sake or enjoyment of it. She just wasn't that sort of guy. But then again, she wondered if a head full of alcohol changed that at all...

CC watched with slightly growing fear as the possible threat stopped at the stall counter, and leant onto it with the arm holding booze. The other arm swung round to half-heartedly slam the hat into the counter. He glared at her with his – considerably drowsy – looking eyes. She tried to look at him inquisitively, masking her uncertainty.

"Asgh... opentheff... wallsh." Jack slurred, pointing a shaky index finger at her.

CC wondered for a second what had compelled him to drink himself this badly this evening.

"What did you say?" She asked kindly, putting on her over-the-counter voice.

Making him repeat something was usually a bad idea as trying Jack's patience always was, but she honestly didn't understand what words that jagged maw of teeth and devilish frown were trying to form.

There was about 5 seconds of shaking his bottle absent-mindedly before Jack attempted a response.

"Fucking." He snapped quietly, almost as if he wasn't drunk – the lack of context was the only thing that showed the Archagent's mind wasn't powering on all cylinders.

She was about to decipher his reply before he started up and pounded his hat with a shaky fist.

"Openth... open theff.. fuckiwarrll.. WALL!" He rasped, gradually getting louder as his dysfunctional mouth irritated him.

' Open the fucking wall.' It surprisingly took the Cadress only seconds to work out what he meant.

He wants her to open the front door that was just to the side of the stall. And let him in? Is that a good idea? She tried not to dwell too much on why it would be a bad idea. Jack obviously acknowledged she was there and would probably remember if the Cadress told him to scram and locked the place up, so there wasn't much she could do without suffering his wrath later.

"Okay, one second."

"Jjjjjack."

"What?" She paused mid-step at his strange reply.

"Jjjjaack." He said, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"Wh-"

" Callme... meh.. call meh Jjjack."

"I know your name."

"Yea... you callmee... Jjjjack, Jack. Noirrrr..."

This guy's completely pissed off his head. CC was amazed he even remembered where she lived.

Taking the key out of her apron pocket, she headed out of the stall room and into the small hallway to the left that lead to the front door. While she fumbled with the lock, she could clearly hear Jack slurring further garbage.

"Smells fuckin... fff... nice..."

"Ggghhhh..."

"...bitch queen! Fuck..bith fuck that... thhh... the... thhhhat.. hat. Hat!"

As much as that last comment was probably a little too loud to be shouting in public, CC suddenly felt the need to giggle at the speech impediment he was suffering with from his drunkenness.

That went as fast as it had come as she heard the piercing sound of glass smashing against concrete.

She finally opened the locked door to see that Jack had randomly pelted the bottle at the street, and was now sat with his back to the stall, leaning against it with his legs sprawled out in front of him. The explosion of glass caused the drunk to grin and snicker as if was even funny at all.

"_Jack Noir_." CC called, in deliberation of his previous command.

He looked up as she motioned with her head that the door was open. He looked at her wearily.

In fact, he pretty much just sat there and stared at her dully. Jack then made what appeared to be an attempt at getting up. A failed attempt.

His arms gave way under him and his dropped right back on his backside again, cursing unnecessarily.

"Thfff... fffucking legsthhh.." The Archagent slurred angrily, drunkenly waving his hand.

He tried again, but to no avail. This time, CC approached the struggling drunk and uncertainly helped him up. She wasn't too keen on how he used the front of her apron for support, but sure enough she got him inside quite easily.

After dropping him off at the sofa, an unpleasant shudder went down her spine as she went to lock the front door. As if she was helping him. What had he ever done for her?

"...Hheeyy.. yy...yoou..."

"Sorry, I'll be through in a minute."

"Jjjjack! Jjaaaack Noir I shhaaid!"

"Yes, _Jack Noir_."

That seemed to shut him up. CC left the key in the door in case things got out of hand and she could escape quick enough. Just in case. She daren't leave it unlocked in case some tool was sneaking around in hope to nick something valuable from the aristocratic street of Odyssey Scarf.

Before she went back into the lounge to ssuffer/s sput up with/s sface/s see him, CC quickly scooted back into the stall room to pull down the green shutters and retrieve the bowl of liquorice.

She thought better not to bring through his hat in case it made him unruly. He obviously didn't like it.

Spotting the rejected 'today's special', CC decided to bring that through too. It was a bit silly to sell a today's special two days running. It kind of defeated the object.

The Cadress entered the lounge and placed the bowl and the plate on the-

And why the hell is the coffee table flipped onto its side? She looked at Jack, who noticed her bemused and slightly irritated glance. His ugly grin came back, in which she inwardly flinched at.

"Jusshht.. give it fuckineeree..." He said, waving a claw at the bowl tucked in her arm. CC went to sort out the coffee table first but Jack's suddenly impatient scowl made her act otherwise.

She handed the bowl to him, and placed the tray of liquorice swirls next to him on the sofa.

The grumpy Archagent eyed the tray suspiciously, but then settled with shoving a few liquorice Scotty dogs in his mouth and leaning back, closing his eyes as he chewed on them.

No matter how many times she'd made them for him, it still annoyed the Cadress that she never got a thank you. Hopefully, eating a load of candy after drinking himself silly wouldn't make him throw up all over her house.

Still, drunk Jack was somewhat slightly more sociable than sober Jack. Sober Jack would've made some sort of threat already; sober Jack wouldn't have even grinned.

For being a young, relatively successful Dersite – he was working in the Queen's palace, CC could only imagine the pay and respect! - Jack's attitude sucked.

Stifling a yawn, CC slowly picked up the coffee table and placed it slightly out of Jack's kicking reach, in case he spontaneously decided to do it again. After giving the crew treats, she would usually leave the room and avoid it until they left – but this was different, wasn't it? It was the first time Jack had turned up on his own – hell, turned up drunk – and it didn't look like his gang members even knew where he was.

What if Jack has come to crash out on her sofa until he sobers up in the morning? She didn't like the sound of leaving Jack in her lounge.

"Are the others coming?" The Cadress asked, looking at the Dersite that was still chewing.

"Mmmmnuh." Was all she got back. She took that as a no.

"Bringsshhat table.. so I can put myfeetonnit..." Jack ordered dryly, his eyes still closed.

CC suppressed a growl, but didn't retaliate. She moved it closer as he threw his clawed feet onto it. The small clinks and crackles of him flexing his toes forced yet another unwelcome chill down her spine.

The man was an animal. An arrogant, fierce, hideous, disgusting animal. Yet the Cadress continued to compose herself.

"Is there," she paused to see if he was listening, in which he snarled quietly for interrupting his momentary silence, "Is there anything else you need, Jack?"

He opened his eyes to peer at her darkly. CC stepped back with slight worry.

"N..._Noirrr_. Jjjack _Noirr_." He repeated, again making irrelevant gestures with his hands towards her.

"Jack _Noir_." She couldn't help but to add a tinge of bitterness to her voice, as much as she feared he would notice it. Fortunately, he didn't seem to react.

"Like what, _Cadresshh_."

Okay, maybe he did notice. Her mouth opened before her head spoke.

"_Confectionary_ Cadress." She replied back sharply, crossing her arms.

CC suddenly feared the worst as his face told her he didn't like that response. A lurking claw slid to his side.

Eeeek, he's finding his knife oh god oh god think of something QUICK!

"...Is there anything else you want, Jack Noir?" The Cadress said quickly, making sure there was no hint of sarcasm in her voice.

His hand stopped – thank god – but instead his eyes seemed to be the moving object of fear.

She wasn't too experienced with detecting body language, but she didn't have to be an expert to see how he just _looked her up and down._ His eyes showed no emotion, which left the suddenly exposed-feeling lady slightly confused.

Despite all that, Jack placed his bowl on the armrest and sat forward to pick at his resting feet like she hadn't even spoke.

"Is that a no, I take it?" CC asked.

He looked up, the penetrating stare still there, and then he sat back once again.

"Neeh." Jack growled, with a strange hint of amusement in his voice. He then tapped a claw on the liquorice tray next to him, and waited for her to reply.

"What? You're allowed them; I brought them in for you."

He tapped the tray again, the faintest smirk still on his lips.

"What is it?" She asked sternly, quickly growing furious with the uncooperative Dersite. Her tone only seemed to amuse him.

"Siit. Cadressh."

Sit? Hell no.

"I-I have other things to do. Sorry." She replied, heading towards the stall room door before Jack made it an order for her to sit next to the drunken blade-owner.

It was mere chance that he managed to clutch her arm before she left the room.

"Naah. Sit. Sit w'meh." Jack countered, more than gently tugging her arm from his slouched position on the sofa. She knew she wouldn't be able to pull away from that vice on her forearm.

Holding back a groan (or whimper) of frustration, the Cadress reluctantly turned to the sofa, his sharp claws still around her wrist. But before she could move the tray or walk around to the space on the other side of Jack, the Archagent used surprising force to drag her down right on top of the tray. She let out a yelp, and grumbled at the fact he'd just pulled down on top of some perfectly good liquorice treats. What was worse was that she could feel the hard candy poking her underside uncomfortably.

Jack reached across her to snatch a handful of homemade Scotty dogs, and greedily threw them into his mouth.

For a while, they sat in silence. The Cadress wanted to at least rearrange herself more comfortably on the tray but Jack's fearful presence seemed to stop her. If only she had the guts, she would get up again and bolt it – but CC knew she would have to keep her cool if she didn't want any trouble. She looked at him expectantly, as if searching for a reason as to why he wanted her company.

He glanced at her for no more than a second, and then leant his head back and shut his eyes.

She decided to speak.

"How was work?"

That obviously started a bad note, as the Archagent opened his eyes again to reveal white hot pearls of unspoken hatred. The Cadress could only look away to her curled up feet as she waited for the silent wave of hate to pass through him. She realised it was best not speaking. But to CC's surprise, Jack responded.

"...Bitch Queen." He spat, probably the most audible words Jack had ever pronounced since he turned up drunk.

The Cadress perked up at the reply, and automatically looked at him in a way that pleaded him to continue. He snarled and turned away from her gaze. This irritated her somewhat – the tone of his confession had brought forth curiosity in the Cadress. Jack and his 3 gang members patently had something against the queen, but she had never known why.

Why does he hate the Black Queen? What happened at the palace?

"You don't like our Queen?" She asked gently, hoping for a clue.

"Hate."

"You hate her?"

"Yeeeh."

Silence again. She tried to pry out a longer answer by staring at him intently, but the short Dersite merely averted his gaze to a framed picture of her home on the wall.

It occurred to her that, even through his drunkenness, the Archagent actually seemed very agitated and tense upon mentioning the queen. Something was waiting to burst from him, but Jack was keeping it under wraps for some reason; CC just wasn't pushing the right buttons.

"...Is she the reason you've gotten yourself drunk?"

He looked at her. "I ussususarrrly... get drunk ev'ry night." Jack stated. Something close to a grin formed, but quickly faded. He'd forced it.

"Then why this time have you turned up here? To my house?" She asked quickly. This time, he froze in thought.

"Erhhh...," he slurred, his facade peeling back to reveal insecurity as the Archagent looked at his feet, "causeeshhh... you don't tell."

"Don't tell what?"

"About the Bitsssh Queen!" He snarled agitatedly into her face, spraying saliva from his words and rattling in his outbreak of fury.

In the moment he had shouted, the Cadress saw the mixture of emotions that erupted alongside his temper. Pain, stress, defeat. It was within that blinding second the Cadress saw a Dersite that had a deep-set resentment which the Queen must be fuelling in some way; and upon thinking that, the Cadress wondered if the Black Queen was at all still the beautiful, righteous wonder when she was behind palace doors.

Throughout her thought trail, Jack had been non-stop drawling out inaudible curses and issues he had with the Queen, gesticulating widely and frantically as the volcano within him expelled all it's worth out into a house where the only outside person Jack could trust – both with this mutinous secret and his pent-up feelings – could hear him.

This wasn't about the emotional extremes created by alcohol, or the ungrateful attitude of an arrogant man; it was the cry of an abused soul, seeking someone to confess his pain to, freely without worry. Speaking so horrifically of her majesty at the bar would have him killed; showing so much emotional hurt in front of his burly gang members would destroy his reputation as gang leader; the only person Jack had left was the girl that gave them a meeting house and gave them sweets.

With his jaw slack and the volcano settled, Jack did little more than stare in unmasked belief at the wall on the opposite side of the room, as if he couldn't believe he had just exploded with such vigour.

He glanced at the Cadress quickly in order to snap at whatever hurting or confused look he expected her to give him, but his sharp tongue was caught as the girl was looking at him with the comforting light of understanding.

Jack didn't know what to make of it. He suddenly pushed himself from his seat, his gaze set on the wall.

"Jack?"

The Archagent moved past the coffee table and made his best attempt of stumbling towards the door.

"Jack where are you going?"

"I have t-go..." He muttered groggily in reply, the shame and embarrassment of his rant haunting his words. The Cadress caught the underlying tone of regret. It was quickly removed.

"Open thissh fucking door."

And Jack Noir, the hateful, hideously ignorant gang leader, was back. But this time, CC saw the layers beneath his cold shell. She complied as if the confession had never happened.

Stepping in front of him, the Cadress turned the key in the lock and watched him storm out as best he could without another word. The Archagent got half way down the aristocratic street when he heard the soft clink and patter of clawed feet behind him.

Upon turning around, a partly-squashed liquorice treat was thrust into his hand.

He squinted drunkenly at the barely visible cake maker in the intense purple darkness of Derse.

"They were for you. I hope you like it."

Even in his drunk state, her words pulsed through the Archagent's carapaced skull even stronger than the alcohol-induced buzz. For once, he didn't feel like rejecting a polite gesture directed at him. Jack Noir turned, speechless, and continued on his way with the small treat, listening as well as he could for the sound of her small feet pattering away.

Once they were long gone, the Archagent tried to compose himself of the Dersite he strived to be, and reluctantly flung the treat as far away from him as possible.

Despite feeling stronger for willing himself to do so, Jack Noir couldn't help but to turn his gaze solemnly towards the liquorice treat as his dragged his feet past.

Back in the warm, chocolate-smelling home of the Confectionary Cadress, the young cake lady walked into the stall room to turn the light off.

After Jack's visit, CC had long lost her appetite and wanted nothing more than to fall into deep slumber. Reaching for the light switch, the sight of a thread-bare harlequin hat on the counter made her pause.

She picked it up, and after a moment of thought, the Cadress decided that she wanted to remember what she learned tonight.

His hat would be the perfect reminder.

Turning off the light, the Cadress left the room and brought the ratted old item with her to her room, yawning contentedly.


End file.
